


Lady in Satin

by Katyakora



Series: CWAweek2018 [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: CWAweek2018, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Violence, Jazz Club AU, Leonard is not having a good time for most of this, Multi, Song fic, Sort Of, emotional/psychological torture, historical setting, pre-coldwestallen, referenced past domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katyakora/pseuds/Katyakora
Summary: “Welcome back, love,” John Constantine's voice greeted her as Iris slowly blinked her way towards consciousness. “Not exactly what we were expecting, but you’ll do. So, what did you see?”“... a 1940s jazz club.”Leonard is trapped in a hell of his own making, and there is only one person who can get him out.





	Lady in Satin

**Author's Note:**

> Coldwestallen Week Day One: Historical
> 
> No idea where this came from. This is what you call stretching the prompt to it's absolute limit. Songs are listed in order in the end notes if you are unfamiliar with them. And yes, I know they're not all 40s Jazz, that era and style is just the setting.

“Welcome back, love,” John Constantine's voice greeted her as Iris slowly blinked her way towards consciousness. “Not exactly what we were expecting, but you’ll do. So, what did you see?”

 

“... a 1940s jazz club.”

 

That was clearly not the answer anyone had been expecting. Then again, it was supposed to be Barry getting projected into the interdimensional temporal pocket where Leonard Snart was allegedly trapped. The Legends had discovered a knot of sorts in the temporal zone, an anomaly that even Gideon couldn't explain. Further investigation had provided no information until Constantine probed it with magic on a whim. Apparently, the entity within had expelled him with great prejudice, but he'd seen a face in the instant before he was forced out; the face of Leonard Snart.

 

Much theorising and conjecture followed. Between them, the Legends had developed a theory; Leonard hadn't died when the Oculus blew. Instead, the explosion had caused the knot they had found, and Leonard was trapped inside the pocket dimension that had formed. John believed that Leonard's subconscious controlled the dimension, and had pushed him out as a protective measure, assuming that John was a threat. After all, John was a stranger to this version of Leonard. So they tried to send Mick in. That had failed outright, John stating that it felt like the dimension wasn't pushing Mick out, but refusing to accept his existence. More conjecture refined their theory; Leonard's subconscious had filled the dimension with the people he was close to and wouldn't accept two versions of the same person. So if they wanted to breach the knot, they would have to send someone Leonard knew, but wasn't close to.

 

Which brought the Legends to STAR labs for attempt number three. After much explanation, and confirmation that no, Cisco's powers couldn't breach into the knot, Barry agreed to be sent in. Both teams gathered around as John performed the ritual. But as with Mick, Barry felt only a jolt as his essence tried to leave his body, only to fall back into place. Barry sighed as John frowned in confusion. He opened his mouth to speak, but Iris, standing next to Barry, didn't get to hear what he said. For her, everything went black.

 

Hence why she was now waking up in the medbay with Constantine and a worried looking Barry leaning over her.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Cisco piped up from the other side of the room. “Snart’s in a pocket dimension where he can make anything he wants, and he makes a  _ jazz club _ ?”

 

“Who knew Snart had good taste?” Joe muttered.

 

“Snart hates jazz,” Mick interjected with a confused scowl.

 

“Are you sure?” Wally questioned. “If he hates jazz, then why would he put it in his dream world?”

 

“No, I don't think he did,” Iris said slowly, sitting up. “Cisco, give me that tablet.”

 

“What do you mean?” Barry asked as Cisco complied.

 

Iris didn't answer straight away, tapping away at the tablet as she confirmed her hunch. Soon, she found what she was looking for. A police report from the seventies, more specifically the scans of the crime scene photos taken recording the death of Charlotte Snart. Iris swallowed thickly, recognising not only the woman, but the grisly wounds and the angle of her body as it lay crumpled on a bathroom floor.

 

“He didn't make a dream world,” Iris croaked. “He made his own personal hell.”

* * *

The first thing Iris had notice when her vision cleared was the sound of trumpets. Being raised by Joe West meant that Iris knew more about jazz than she was willing to admit. She sat up in her chair with a confused frown.

 

“Louis Armstrong?” she muttered to herself as she looked around. The room was large and strangely lit, with everything but the dancefloor and stage shrouded in shadow. There were no doors that she could see. On stage was an old style mic and a single grand piano to the side of it where a man played. Behind the stage was a shadowy orchestra pit, where the rest of the band presumably played. The room was full but didn't feel crowded; everyone was too deliberately placed, like a staged scene in a movie. There were tables and chairs where strangers sat, all facing the stage, but the dancefloor had some familiar faces. Among those she knew were the original Legends, various members of Team Flash and even some of Barry's villains. Even a blank-eyed Barry was twirling an equally vacant Lisa Snart to the opening tune of 'Summertime’.

 

Iris stood to approach, to ask what was going on. It was then that she realised that she was now dressed in a red 40’s style gown. Now that she really looked, it seemed everyone was decked out in forties glamour. She stepped out of the shadows and made her way towards the dancers, keeping an eye out for the person she had been sent here to find. The seated patrons all ignored her as she passed. The dancers all ignored her when she entered the throng, dancing around her as though she wasn't even there. No one answered her when she spoke, no one stopped when she tried to grab an arm. The room suddenly felt far more eerie as Iris realised that she was literally alone in a crowded room.

 

As she had tried to get the dancers’ attention, a woman had stepped onto the stage and up to the mic. She was beautiful, in a silver dress with long, dark curls perfectly styled. Iris couldn't say why, exactly, but something about the woman strongly reminded her of Kendra. The woman began to sing, her clear voice ringing out with maternal love and hope. And it was as she watched the woman sing, that Iris caught sight of the pianist's face.

 

It was Leonard. Staring transfixed at the singer, not once looking down at his hands which continues to play effortlessly. Unlike the crowd however, his face was not blank. No, his eyes were red-rimmed and he looked broken, staring at the woman with grief and longing, as if he wanted nothing more than to reach out and protect her from whatever fate he seemed to feel was inevitable. 

 

A man joined the woman on stage, and though he didn't have a thing on Louis Armstrong, he belted out a passable rendition of the second verse. Leonard's face crumbled further at the sight of him. Iris couldn’t understand why he was reacting this way to these people, but it hardly mattered. She marched up to the stage and climbed up, the singers predictably ignoring her even when she walked right in front of them.

 

“Leonard,” Iris called as she reached him. “Come on, I’m here to help get you out of here.”

 

Leonard didn’t so much as twitch. He just kept playing. Iris got closer, peering at him. Even when she blocked his view of the singing couple, he still stared forlornly in their direction. Iris sat on the bench next to him and gave his shoulder a rough shake. He played on. She even jabbed him in the face with her finger nail, to no reaction. She was getting frustrated and contemplating poking him in the eye just to see what would happen, when the song ended. Next to her, Leonard took a shaky breath in, almost a sob. Iris frowned at him, trying to make sense of this strange world he’d trapped himself in. She followed his anguished gaze to see that the woman now stood alone at the mic. Iris recognised the intro well, but when the woman began to sing, she knew that she had never heard this song sung quite like this before.

 

“ _ Southern trees...bear a strange fruit…” _ the woman crooned. “ _ Blood on the leaves...and blood at the root…” _

 

The way her voice rang out, so much more than the music it rode over, immediately changed the atmosphere in the room. Where before it had felt like the room was trying for a facsimile of the cheerful, boisterous environment it mimicked, now it felt like standing in a cemetery. The people still danced but now the very air felt mournful.

 

And then the scene began to change. The further into the song she went, the more the singer’s skin paled, her vibrant, youthful appearance giving way to haggard cheeks and dark bags beneath her eyes. Her curls became lank and lost their lustre, and though she still smiled with sparkling eyes, her smile looked pained and her eyes looked bright with fever. Bruises began to form over her exposed skin, and crimson stains bloomed over her silver dress. As the song reached the crescendo, her appearance steadily worsened and vicious red slashes appeared on her forearms. With a start, Iris realised that the singer had turned to squarely meet Leonard’s eyes. The slashes on her arms barely bled but the ugly wound unfurling from her head spilled a flood of red. 

 

_ “...here is a strange...and bitter crop…!” _

 

Iris couldn’t help it, she screamed in horror when the woman collapsed as the song ended, as though the strings holding her up had been cut. She fell at the edge of the stage, her dead eyes still looking up at Leonard, who had silent tears falling down his cheeks.

 

“Leonard, this isn’t real,” Iris tried, but even she was shaken by what she had just witnessed. “Please, snap out of this!” 

 

Leonard just kept playing, unable to look away from the grisly scene. Maudlin trumpets began to play, and the man from before stepped onto the stage, his youthful appearance gaining the paunch and lines of middle age and years of failing to look after oneself. The man looked at the woman and sneered down at the body. He bent down and picked her up and began a horrible macabre dance, twirling the limp corpse around with him. Iris had always liked ‘St James Infirmary’ but the second the disgusting man opened his mouth and butchered it, all the while chuckling nastily at the dead woman, Iris wasn’t certain she could ever hear that song again without bursting with rage. The man seemed utterly indifferent to the death in front of him, far more concerned with his own wealth and status. Iris got up off the bench and paced, frustration mixing with horror and pity. The man left the stage as his song ended, just dropping the corpse and leaving her where she fell, and while glad to see him go, Iris was almost afraid to see what came next. She was starting to think she might understand just what she was seeing, and the implications sent icy spikes through her heart.

 

“ _ I’ve posed for pictures with ivory soap...I’ve petted stray dogs and shied clear of dope…”  _

 

Iris almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the little girl clambouring onstage, reciting Eartha Kitt’s memorable monologue intro. And yet still, Leonard sat and watched looking as though his very soul was being torn apart. As the music picked up and the little girl began to sing, Iris began to understand. The girl grew before their eyes, the familiar face of Lisa Snart reaching maturity in a few bars. Iris watched an innocent child sing about her wish to be evil and grow into the woman who fulfilled it. Lisa stepped down into the crowd as she sang, and was twirled and spun between different partners, and on each partner she left bloody handprints. There was no way to tell if the blood on her hands was hers or theirs. Iris stood behind Leonard and let her hand fall onto his shoulder, wishing she could say or do anything to comfort him. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t contributed to any of this, like a pianist accompanying a singer to build a melody. But there was nothing she could do, not when he seemed unable to focus on anything except whoever sang.

 

An idea struck her. Lisa’s song ended, and before whatever fresh torture stepped out of Leonard’s past, Iris stepped up to the mic.

 

“Leonard!” 

 

He only stared at her blankly, as though she wasn’t even there. Clenching her hands in frustration, she had one last idea to try, and went with the first thing that popped into her head.

 

“ _ Stars shining bright above you…” _ Iris was no Ella Fitzgerald, but she could hold a tune. Leonard blinked, his fingers faltering to a halt on the keys.  _ “ _ _ Night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’ _ _...”  _ To her surprise, the band started up to accompany her as though she was an expected part of the program. “ _ Birds singing in the sycamore trees...dream a little dream of me..” _

 

For the first time since she’d seen him, Leonard’s expression shifted. Slowly, it twisted from despair into confusion. Recognition sparked in his eyes and he seemed to truly become aware of his surroundings for the first time.

 

“Iris?” he croaked. Iris wanted to laugh in sheer relief.

 

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I was starting to think I’d never get through.”

 

But as soon as she started talking normally, the light left his eyes and his face was once more a mask of pain.

 

“No, we have to get you out of here!” she cried. She took a breath to start singing again, but suddenly it felt as though all the air had left the room, and the next thing she knew, Iris was blinking her eyes open in STARlabs

* * *

“That's a bit harsh, isn't it?” Joe scoffed. “So the man doesn't like jazz, bad music is hardly the definition of hell.”

 

“No, you don't understand,” Iris argued, “it's not about the music, that's just, it's presentation. It's like his subconscious made his own personal opera of all the bad experiences he thinks he's responsible for.” She paused, unprepared for the level of emotion the scene had left her with. 

 

“But did you find him?” Mick interjected.

 

“Yeah,” Iris confirmed with a nod, “wasn't hard, he was onstage.”

 

“What’d he say?” Barry asked. 

 

“Not much since I'd only just gotten through to him when you tugged me out,” Iris answered with a slightly reproachful look at Constantine. “It was like he couldn't see or hear anyone who wasn't a part of the show.”

 

“Really? I doubt it was that rivetting,” Cisco muttered. Iris scowled.

 

“You don't get it,” Iris snapped, a little annoyed that no one seemed particularly moved by the admittedly strange picture she was painting. “I’m not kidding when I say he's in his own worst nightmare. It's like he can't move, he can't look away, all he can do is sit there and watch and play as people he loves die and kill and tear themselves apart in horrible ways-”

 

“Hey, it's okay, Iris,” Barry soothed her gently,his hand gently rubbing her shoulder, “we’re gonna get him out of there, I promise.”

 

“What I don't get is why?” Sara asked. “Why would he make his own hell?”

 

“Well, he likely thinks that's where he is,” John stated. “Just been blown up, he expects to pop up on the other side. So his subconscious made the punishment he was expecting.”

 

“Explains a lot. The goddamn drama queen,” Mick growled. 

 

“Well, if that's true, then all Iris needs to do is explain the situation and then boom, he opens the door for himself. Easy,” Cisco pointed out. 

 

“Not quite that easy,” Iris contradicted with a grimace. “If I do anything that doesn't fit the formula, he's not aware of it.”

 

“Then how did you get through to him before?”

 

Iris gave Barry a look that dared him to make fun of her. “I got onstage and sang.”

* * *

In some part of his consciousness, Leonard Snart had been aware of her presence the moment her red satin dress brightened the dancefloor. It was the same part of him that was aware of the absurdity of everything that he sat in witness to. But that part was endlessly eclipsed by the part of him that was stripped raw by every truth each scene dredged up. The pain and regret and guilt invaded him until it was all that he could comprehend. He found himself ruled by emotion with rational thought barely making itself heard. Perhaps if he’d been able to focus on anything else at all, he could make some kind of escape. But all he knew was each performance and the anguish they brought. 

 

Iris’s presence was an anomaly. She wasn’t supposed to be there, but somehow she was, right next to him and desperately trying to draw his focus. Leonard would have loved nothing more than to give it to her, but the intangible shackles that kept him in this torturous loop wouldn’t let him. It almost made things worse, knowing that one of the faces in the room wasn’t blank and empty but he couldn’t truly see it.

 

And then she broke through. She sang, taking over the show and filling his ears with a new voice in what felt like eons. For one, glorious moment, he could  _ think _ .

 

And then she just disappeared as though she was never there, and he was shoved back into the cycle of pain and guilt. He had lost count of how many times the show had repeated, and every rendition hurt just as much as the first. The stench of burning flesh still stung his nose and choked his lungs every time Mick joyously succumbed to the flames to the tune of 'Kiss of Fire’. Tears still streamed down Leonard's face as he stood to perform the final number, the climax before the whole scene reset. But it as somehow it was all even worse after that glorious moment of clarity.

 

The finale was one of his mother's favourites, just like every other song used to torture him. At the sound of the opening notes Leonard was finally able to leave the pianist's bench, but this was no freedom. No, his traitorous feet always brought him to the mic, to begin singing no matter how hard he tried to keep his lips sealed.

 

_ “Diamonds are forever…” _

 

His voice was always strong despite his ragged breathing. And just like before, his gun appeared in his hand, trained on one of the dancers; the first man Leonard had ever killed. The shot rang out like just another beat of the drums, another note on the brass; just another part of his song.

 

The shot went right between his ribs, but there was no blood. Instead, the tinkling of tumbling jewels joined the music as diamonds gushed from the deadly wound. It was always diamonds that spilled as he was forced to relive every life he'd ever taken in the name of his own wealth. 

 

_ “...I can see every part, nothing hides in their heart to hurt me…” _

 

And when the bodies of all those he had killed in life had dropped, he stepped onto the dancefloor and turned his gun on all of the other lives that he had ruined in more subtle ways. It was a cruel and horrific dance, the floor appearing almost snow-covered as more and more diamonds fell. He pulled each partner close in a mockery of intimacy before pressing his gun to their heart and showing them the folly of their trust.

 

_ “...men are mere mortals who are not worth going to your grave for…” _

 

Barry was always last. Leonard wouldn't admit to himself why for a long time. But as the loops continued he gave up on lying to himself; after all, no one was really here to take advantage of his feelings for the speedster. He wasn't quite sure when exactly Barry had worked his way into his heart, but Leonard had shoved those feelings down, refusing to acknowledge them. And now it seems he was being punished for it.

 

“ _...for when love is gone...they luster on!” _

 

Leonard wished he could close his eyes as he belted out the line, knowing what came next. Tears streamed down his face still as their dance came to an end and he pressed the cold gun to Barry's sternum.

 

“ _ Sunday is gloomy...My hours are slumberless...Dearest, the shadows...I live with are numberless...” _

 

Startled by the sudden and absurd musical shift, Leonard dropped the gun as though it burned and stepped back, panting. He swung his gaze wildly back to the stage and there she was. Iris West in a stunning red dress looking like a vintage angel as her soft voice brought him back to himself. 

 

“You came back,” he rasped, he voice raw despite the perfect vocalisation he’d just been performing. Iris nodded, clearly relieved and taking care not to stop singing. Leonard had no idea how or why she was there, but she was, and helping him in the only way she could. He tried not to analyse the emotion in her eyes as she looked at him, something that looked a little too close to pity for his liking.

 

“How are you here?” he asked, fairly certain that even if she was dead like him, she wouldn't be  _ here. _

 

“... _ Angels have no thoughts...of ever returning you...”  _ she sang, but wiggled her fingers with emphasis, prompting him to read her actions rather than listen to the words. “ _ Would they be angry If I thought of joining you?” _

 

“Magic?” he guessed, which she confirmed with a nod. “Can you get me out?”

 

She hesitated and then shook her head. Leonard felt all the hope at an end in sight crumble within him. It must have shown on his face, because Iris panicked and  began a hasty set of hand gestures that involved a lot of pointing at him. 

 

“I...can get myself out?” he interpreted. She nodded excitedly and continued their strange game of charades. “I control...all of this?”

 

He looked around at the bodies laying among the diamonds. He’d done this? He’d put himself through all this pain, refusing to let him look away or ignore his past mistakes. He’d put himself in a hell of his own making. He felt sick. He'd fought so hard to break free and had only been fighting himself, guaranteed to lose. He breathed deeply trying to keep his riotous emotions in check after being forced to let them run free while his torture played out. He turned and looked around the room, seeing the pile of bodies and fallen diamonds and suddenly felt angry. He concentrated, letting the anger fuel him. Knowing that this was his world, this was his doing, was all that it took for him to be able to make the diamonds melt away like snow. Behind him, Iris still sang, likely unnecessary now that he was aware, but still a sensible precaution, just to be safe. He let everything melt away, until all that was left was himself, Iris and the microphone. He walked up to her and let a door come into being at the back of the stage, hoping that just the intention to create a way out would be enough. Iris was smiling proudly at him.

 

Leonard approached the door, only to hesitate as his hand hovered over the hand.

 

_ “ _ This will take me back, won’t it?” he found himself asking, reluctant to trust anything in this world that wasn’t her. “To the real world?” To life and living, to everyone he cared about, he couldn’t bring himself to say.

 

“ _ Dreaming... I was only dreaming…” _ Iris sang with emphasis. She took the mic head off the stand and reached out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “ _ I wake and I find you asleep _

_ in the deep of my heart…” _

 

Her touch felt more real than anything that he had endured in this place. It brought more reassurance than he was comfortable admitting. He allowed himself one weakness, and reached up to take the hand from his shoulder, gripping it tightly in his as his other hand gripped the door handle.

 

“I’d rather not take the risk of finding out what happens if you’re in here when I’m gone,” he explained, glad to have a relatively robust excuse to hold on to the comfort she offered. She just smiled and nodded in understanding. Her song was also about to reach its end. Steeling himself, Leonard turned the handle and pushed open the door. Light spilled through it. 

 

“ _....Gloomy….Sunday…” _

 

The last line echoed through the empty room as Leonard and Iris stepped through the door, and into the light.

* * *

Barry paced the edge of the circle that Constantine had drawn in the middle of the speed lab. It was meant to be him lying prone at its centre, but instead it was Iris, her soul spirited away to an interdimensional pocket. It was hard, knowing that there was nothing he could do to help; he couldn’t just run to the rescue if anything went wrong. And Barry had made the mistake of asking Constantine what might go wrong. 

 

“-and all that’s just assuming nothing nasty has crawled in there with him,” John was saying. “If that’s happened, then she’s probably-”

 

“Yes, thank you, we get the picture!” Cisco interjected sharply, his eyes watching Barry pace with worry.

 

“How long does she need to be in there?” Barry asked, chewing his thumbnail.

 

“For the third time, as long as she needs,” Constantine droned with exasperation. “Look, your girl made the choice to go back in, and no amount of worrying and hassling me is gonna change the outcome. So just sit your skinny arse down and wait quietly like a good boy. She’ll be out when she's out.”

 

As if on cue, the lines of the magic circle flared with a bright green light. Green lines drew themselves in the air above Iris, forming the image of a doorway. The handle turned and a cavity appeared in thin air as the door opened. On the other side, Barry caught a glimpse of a large, opulent room, the sound of old music drifting through that reminded him of Sunday mornings at Joe's when he was a kid. A figure crossed the threshold.

 

Leonard looked good, in a sharp, navy, pinstripe suit that looked like it came straight out of an old gangster movie. He stumbled through looking disoriented, the door shutting and disappearing behind him. He didn't seem to notice the room at large, instead looking down at his right hand in confusion. Leonard turned sharply, backwards where the door had been, to see empty air and the relieved faces of his old team mates. 

 

And then he noticed Iris's prone body, still lying lifeless on the floor at his feet. He knelt down beside her, his hands hovering as though he didn't know what to do with them. He finally raised his eyes to meet Barry's, and in them Barry saw so much raw anguish and guilt that it stunned him.

 

“I'm sorry,” Leonard croaked, his voice hoarse as though he'd been crying for days. Although, if what Iris had said was true, he may have been crying for years. “I tried to bring her with me.”

 

Barry felt like his heart stopped, his relief at seeing Snart whole and alive quickly eclipsed by fear for Iris's fate. He fell to his knees on Iris's other side, mirroring Leonard. 

 

“No, Iris, please, wake up!” he cried desperately, clutching her hand and cradling her face. She didn't move. “Please come back to me, please, you promised!”

 

“Constantine, do something!” Wally implored.

 

“Oh!” Constantine exclaimed, “Right, my bad.” He quickly muttered something and swiped his boot over the marked circle, smearing one section away.

 

Iris gasped in a breath, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Barry and Leonard kneeling above her. Out of the corner of his eye, Barry saw Leonard smile down at her in naked relief, before turning an icy glare towards the sheepish magician.

 

“Couldn't have done that before we all started having a heart attack?” he snapped.

 

“What he said,” Joe added darkly.

 

“Apologies,” Constantine acquiesced, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

 

“Iris, are you okay?” Barry asked, helping her sit up. 

 

“Yeah, I feel fine.” Her gaze turned to Leonard. “How about you, Leonard? How do you feel?”

 

“Peachy,” he answered sardonically. Barry noted the way his eyes flicked over Iris, cataloguing every feature to reassure himself that she was indeed fine. Whatever else he might have planned to say was interrupted by Leonard being hauled to his feet by Mick and wrapped up in a bear hug.

 

“Mick?” Leonard's concerned voice could be heard despite being muffled by Mick's shoulder. “You’re hugging me?”

 

“Blame Haircut,” Mick snarled, his demeanor at odds with the way he still clung to Leonard, “you left me alone with those idiots for two years, he wore me down.”

 

“What? Two years?” Leonard exclaimed as he pulled back from Mick's embrace. “I was in there for that long?”

 

“Yeah,” Barry confirmed as he helped Iris to her feet. “A lot’s happened since you sacrificed yourself.” 

 

“Yeah, that's at the top of the list of things I am never doing ever again,” Leonard drawled with a shudder. “I suppose I missed the wedding, then?”

 

Barry wasn't sure what to read in that tone. Leonard seemed almost wistful as he said it, his eyes roaming over the pair of them, but there was something else there. Something like regret and resignation.

 

“Yeah, it was the best wedding ever,” Mick told him with a grin, “we got to kill Nazis! And the booze was free.”

 

“Wait, what? Nazis?”

 

“It's a long story that we can get into after Caitlin's checked you over,” Sara announced pointedly.

 

“I’d like to look over you both, actually, just to make sure there’s no lingering side-effects,” Caitlin added.

 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Iris agreed with a sigh. “Come on, I can give you a recap while we get our check-ups.”

 

“How ‘bout you start with the Nazi-killing portion of your wedding?” Leonard suggested as they followed Caitlin out of the Speed Lab.

 

He seemed to handle getting the abridged version of what he’d missed from multiple sources at once pretty well, but about halfway through Caitlin’s check, he started to droop, looking drained. He passed out around the same time that Constantine muttered something about ‘delayed magical disbursal’ while Caitlin talked about ‘cumulative cell fatigue’ and the general consensus was that rest was required. And it was Iris who decided that they take him home.

 

Her argument was sound; Leonard needed a real bed to sleep it off in, and their apartment was the closest with a spare bed. But while Barry watched her basically tell the others that this was going to happen, he couldn’t help but notice a change in her. What she had seen in that place had clearly rattled her, and she stayed close to Leonard as though afraid he might slip back into that place at any moment, even after he'd flashed them back to their apartment. It reminded Barry of the moment when Leonard had stepped out of that place and looked so anguished at the thought that Iris had been left behind. 

 

It made him think. It made him examine how he'd felt when he learned that Leonard might alive, when Iris came back with tales of his twisted torment. He watched as Iris unnecessarily smoothed Leonard's blankets and felt something in his chest settle as all the anxieties he’d gathered that day dissolved. Watching Iris perch on the edge of the spare bed and look down at Leonard's sleeping face with gentle concern, he realised that the settling feeling in his chest was rightness. Leonard was back in their lives, in their home, more entwined with them than ever, and it felt right.

* * *

When Leonard opened his eyes, he wanted to cry. The sun streamed in through a large window, the only music the sound of birds welcoming the sun. There was no piano, no dancing figures, no endless cabaret of all his wrongs. The reality of freedom was heady and part of him feared it was just a new and more terrible torment. 

 

A sound caught his attention and Leonard sat up when he noticed that he wasn't alone. Curled up above the covers on the other side of the bed was Iris, still in her clothes from yesterday and sound asleep, a throw blanket placed over her. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch, to reassure himself that she was real. Because she was the greatest evidence he had that this had really happened, he was really free. Where as every other hollow caricature in his nightmare world had been someone with a significant impact on his life, until her interference, Iris had only ever been a peripheral figure. And if anything, his effect on her life had been positive, seeing as he'd willingly aided Barry in his quest to save her. There was no reason for her to be used against him. 

 

“She was worried.” 

 

Leonard startled at the sound of Barry's voice, turning his head to find the speedster leaning in the doorway, watching them with a fond smile.

 

“She thought you might think you were back there, if you woke up alone,” Barry explained further. Leonard's gaze drifted back to the enigmatic woman beside him.

 

“Very considerate, your wife,” he said, at a loss as to how else to respond. He wasn't used to that level of consideration. Barry smiled widely at his wife, that ridiculous open joy that made him look so young and handsome.

 

“Yeah, she is.” He turned that smile onto Leonard, and he hated the warmth and yearning it invoked in him. “She was even willing to sing for you; you should feel honoured.”

 

“She doesn't like to sing?”

 

“She loves singing, just not in front of other people. She doesn't like her voice.”

 

“Why? She has a lovely singing voice?”

 

“You try growing up with Barry and Dad and not getting self-conscious about your singing,” Iris muttered groggily as she sat up and stretched. She looked at Leonard, up and alert, and smiled just as warmly and prettily as her husband. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

 

“Happy to be back,” he responded glibly, ignoring the pit of yearning threatening to swallow his chest. He didn't miss the way her eyes skated over him, checking for any sign of harm or distress.

 

“How do you feel? You kind of passed out yesterday. You must have been exhausted.”

 

“Nothing a good night's sleep and a decent meal can't fix,” he assured her, because despite a ravenous hunger making itself known, he felt better than he had since before stepping on the Waverider.

 

“Good, 'cause there's waffles and bacon out here when you're ready,” Barry informed him, smirking with amusement at Leonard's admittedly baffled expression. 

 

Iris didn't seem to think there was anything at all strange about Barry cooking him breakfast. “Barry makes the best waffles.” She kicked off the throw and got to her feet. “Come on, before it gets cold.”

 

Mechanically, Leonard followed them to the kitchen, on edge and waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the kitchen contained only the heavenly smell of bacon and coffee, and soft music drifting from a pair of speakers. He almost flinched at the sound, but it was light and poppy, a cheery young woman’s voice singing about old and new loves colliding. There was no brass, just percussion intercut with a baseline and some guitar, and it was so jarringly different from the songs he’d been looping that the sound was actually a relief to hear. 

 

He sat at the kitchen counter and ate with Iris, Barry flitting about the kitchen as he continued to prepare food. It was achingly domestic and easy, and Leonard slowly let his tension go. He let himself have this quiet moment, this one good memory of the two of them before the status quo inevitably reasserted itself. Sitting there, listening to Iris chatter and Barry hum under his breath, wearing a shirt and sweatpants that he's pretty sure were Barry’s, Leonard could trick himself into believing that he belonged here. They had given him a safe haven to collect himself after his ordeal, and he appreciated that. He resolved to try to hold onto it until they came to their senses and pushed him back out into the cold.

 

Imagine his surprise when they never did. He stayed at their insistence until no one could logically believe he was recovering. And still, they kept drawing him back, the warmth of their home becoming a safe haven he could rely on. By the time he realised what was happening, what they were doing, it was too late. In his deeper moments, he imagined that his ordeal had been his penance, and the love these two gave freely was his reward. 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs used:  
> Summertime - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong  
> Strange Fruit - Billie Holiday  
> St. James Infirmary - Louis Armstrong  
> I Want To Be Evil - Eartha Kitt  
> Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Ella Fitzgerald  
> Kiss Of Fire - Louis Armstrong  
> Diamonds Are Forever - Shirley Bassey  
> Gloomy Sunday - Billie Holiday


End file.
